


Litany

by Jael



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Legion of doom - Freeform, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 11:47:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7933438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jael/pseuds/Jael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, a man needs something to focus on to keep himself going...especially when he's behind enemy lines. But the earlier Leonard Snart never would have expected this.</p>
<p>A short prequel to "Thaw."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Litany

**Author's Note:**

> After I finished "Thaw," I kept thinking of Snart with the Legion, memories coming back, concealing them behind the mask he's perfected over a lifetime. But even then, I thought, how does he do it? How do he stay focused under such circumstances?
> 
> So I sat down and wrote this out.

_Sara. Mick. Jax. Stein._ _Kendra. Raymond._ _Hunter._

Repeat it. Remember.

Show nothing.

Keep planning. Keep thinking.

Wait.

* * *

Putting on the mask is second nature.

It may not be a mask like that ones that all the little heroes, the Flash, the Arrow, the...Canary...wear, but he's been donning it every day since he was in elementary school. At this point, he can pull it on in an eyeblink, and keep it in place no matter what goes on around him.

Blank eyes. Blank face. Show nothing. No intelligence. No spark. Most of all, no emotion.

His father hated the mask, would scream at him for the blankness behind his eyes, for the perceived lack of any sort of brains. This was preferable, though, to what he'd get if he did show any initiative or feeling. He learned that the hard way, and some of the marks of that learning are still written on his body.

So he perfects it.

Blank eyes. Blank face. Show nothing.

And, eventually, he learns to paint the mask with what he wants people to see. He tries slavish obedience. But even that doesn't please his father, and he abandons it as soon as he can. It simply goes too far against the grain.

Charm comes more easily. His father is pleased, until—as his son gets older—people start preferring to work with the kid instead of the parent. A lesson is...taught. He puts the charm away...until he finally gets out on his own. It is, he admits, a useful tool.

So many masks are.

Today, he's wearing amused condescension. This is an easy one. This is familiar. Comfortable, even.

It's concealing nothing less than soul-deep, stomach-twisting dread.

Thawne is droning on again. World domination, yadda, yadda. Destroying time, yadda yadda. Kill all the so-called Legends...

_Sara._

It'd been a lightning bolt out of the blue. He had avoided the blond woman whenever he saw her with the motley group of heroes. He doesn't like to fight women, let alone kill them, and given what he'd heard of her, she's not the type to let him strike a nonfatal blow and walk away.

But then she was there, and her eyes were full of...something...that isn't the anger and hate he'd expected and he...

His shot goes wide. The vision strikes him like a physical force. A desperate kiss, a blue light.

None of the other so-called "Legion of Doom" (ugh, that _name_ ) members noticed, as far as he can tell. They retreat soon, having found what they'd been there for, and he makes it back to the so-called lair ( _so_ pretentious) with the rest, barely keeping his grip on the mask, his soul in turmoil.

The vision, the memories, once lodged back in his skull, won't go away.

_Sara._

It's like a landslide, after that. He knows her. He lov... _cares for_...her. Mick's accusations, the first time they met, they were _true_. He knows these people. He worked with them. He...cared?

_Sara. Mick._

He starts repeating the names to himself, reminding himself as the others plot and plan, determined not to let the fog close in again. Every morning, there are new, old memories in his head. He thinks about hands of cards, Russia, juvie. A burning man, a stubborn kid who reminds him a little of himself, an occasionally pompous, but kind scientist. A woman with wings, a history of pain, and a determination to take care of those she loves.

_Sara. Mick. Jax. Stein. Kendra._

Gradually, carefully, he gathers information, gets Thawne to give him little pieces of the master plan. The arrogant SOB doesn't even consider that he might be being had.

Merlyn and Darhk are another story, especially Merlyn. He can see the light of consideration in the other man's eyes with every leading question he asks Thawne. Somehow, he has to prove himself.

That comes in the form of freezing Raymond's leg to the ground during one mission; it's that or kill him outright, and he knows Gideon can rebuild limbs. He conceals the wince of sympathy, though; he's felt this particular pain and he knows it's agonizing. The betrayal in the other man's eyes, somehow, hurts too. (And so does Sara's furious shout when she sees what he's done.)

He adds Raymond to his litany after that.

_Sara. Mick. Jax. Stein. Kendra. Raymond._

The inclusion of Hunter comes after the captain nearly gets killed by Thawne, running into danger to snitch an artifact right out from under the furious speedster's nose. It's a move worthy of a cutpurse and, he thinks grudgingly, worthy of respect.

_Sara. Mick. Jax. Stein._ _Kendra. Raymond._ _Hunter._

He knows, at this point, that he can't let Thawne do what he wants to do. Can't let Darhk have what he wants. Can't even work with Merlyn, although he has more respect for that man than the others. (Above all, Merlyn is a planner.)

He needs to get back to the team. But first, he needs to know more. To come bearing gifts of information, to atone, just a little, for what he's done to survive.

He keeps his mask on. He repeats his litany. He learns. He waits.

It's almost time to move.


End file.
